Dating is terrible. Awful, even. Now I get why people are alone at age 45—because people will ultimately fail you. I've said many things while on dates with countless men, a lot of their names I don't even remember.

"Are you making any money from that?" I asked Mitchell* (not his real name because I can't remember, and you know, ethics). He had just told me his profession was dance therapy, and he had recently founded his own company—although he seemed desperate for clients. But I was high off my vape pen from my walk to the coffee shop and I don't have a filter on my mouth. He explained his dance-therapy business for a full 35 minutes while I shoveled an egg sandwich down my throat. He didn't even order anything on our 10 a.m. "date."

Later when Mitchell offered to drive me home, I came face to face with the all-black Jeep two-door that screams 'I have a pencil dick.' I've known this Jeep before, from another one of my exes. "I used to bang a guy in my apartment building with this same Jeep," I said, just to see what his reaction would be. It didn't go well. Luckily I already knew this guy wasn't worth my time—his pick-up line was telling me that I looked exactly like Emma Stone, his favorite actress. I chalk this one up as a learning experience.

"You were hotter in your ID picture," I said this during that awkward exchange of IDs when you order a drink at a bar. This guy's name I actually forget, the only thing notable about him was that he was Pisces. So you can imagine how sensitive he got.

"I don't like people who don't smoke weed," I proclaimed to Dillion (I know, not even spelled the way of the rock legend—Dylan). He was a 25-year old mechanical engineer finishing up his Ph.D. or some shit. I thought this relationship might actually go somewhere since he's a Cancer, a sign that I'm drawn to. He looked like your average, pretty boy with brown hair and pearly teeth like the chipmunks have in animation films. I convinced myself that I needed to wait for five dates to sleep with him—make him work for it, earn it. I made it to date four and gave myself a pat on the back. Five days later (and only three days since my unicorn-removal), he sends me a novel-long text about how "he doesn't think he can be himself around me" and some other excuses I won't bore you with here. What a waste of time he was.

Any "That's what she said" response, even if you must hold your tongue, by GOD. I let one of these fly on my first and only date with Jon. I thought he'd be more mature due to his age and income—29 and making into six digits. Thinking, maybe he won't fuck me over. WRONG. The day of our long-overdue second date, he tells me he just bought a house and just found out he has to do a walk-through. The timing is impeccable. Mind you, this guy is still riding my Instagram dick, watching my every move.

Bottom line is Fuck them all, or rather, fuck whoever you want because nothing matters in the game of dating.